The photo was shot in a time I was living in that fairytale house with a group of ex-hippies – some of them kindly obsessed with old stories from Morocco. There also was a passionate cook, a master of crêpes, trapped in a time loop: in his head it was always 1966, never raining in Southern California, and the next Beatles album was soon to be expected. Poor lad. Or could we call him happy? To be fair, it was an asylum, a half-way house, and I earned good money as a psychologist. I remember a woman hearing strange jungle sounds and transcribing them on paper – running on empty after 200 pages. Problem was: the inhabitants couldn‘t get that easily adapted to reality, because reality itself looked quite otherworldly. You have to be strong to take that in and tell the difference. You can easily get lost in an environment that has a dreamlike quality, with sombre reptiles nearby. Like some scenes in „Nomadland“, where it looks like a tour of a deserted planet, especially when Frances McDormand heads out to the Badlands national park in South Dakota. But like the nomads in that fabulous semi-documentary movie, we were never really alone, we had green tea, good music, and stories to tell. And one time a day these girls and guys got their blue pills for chilling out into their comfort zones. In the end, they all loved the elephant.